I listened to the March 26 email show. Let me make this crystal clear, Miss Regina ain’t going to Cirque.
Here’s the deal. I hate clowns. I’m not sure of when this happened. It could be the time I went to the Ringling Bros. circus at Madison Square Garden.
Back when I was single and working in an office, one of my co-workers thought it would be fun to go to the circus. A few of us get tickets and off we go into New York City.
We arrived a bit early and head to our seats. They’re pretty close to the front so we settle in with our popcorn and wait for the show to begin. What with us being hot Jersey babes, we caught the eye of some clowns. They casually stroll over, start making small talk and ask what we’re doing after the circus. I’m sitting there thinking “we’re being hit on by clowns. Where’s the hidden camera?” We gracefully explain that one of us is having root canal, the other is due back at the convent and hell hadn’t frozen over so we couldn’t meet them.
When you reject a clown’s advances, it haunts you for the remainder of your life. On a family trip to Springfield, Mass., we booked the Marriott. I first noticed that a few of the cars had magnets on them advertising birthday parties, balloon animals, etc. Hmm..someone must be having a celebration.
We walk into the hotel and there’s the banner “Welcome to the New England Clown Convention.” Great, we’ll be surrounded by clowns 24/7. Just kill me now.
The hotel is attached to a mall. We head there and the clowns are holding some sort of competition. There’s a panel of clowns judging the clown’s performances. My kids are starting to sense my fear and we discover that clown hatred is genetic.
The elevator door opens, and there’s Bobo, Tallulah, Freckles and Silly Willy. How do I know this? They’re in full clown regalia and are wearing convention nametags. The clowns are at the restaurant, the clowns are poolside, the clowns are everywhere. We are not amused and now I’m wondering if Pennywise is hiding under my bed.
Fast forward to the time I was convinced I should go to Cirque du Soleil. I tell my Florida ‘friends’ that I hate clowns, I’m assured it’s not like that. After all, these are French Canadian clowns. I guess this is the upper echelon of clowndom.
I don’t know if you heard the “Freaky French Clown” comment on the podcast. That phrase belongs to me. I muttered it about 1,000 times throughout the show along with “do not come near me or I will dismember you.”
Kevin mentioned the odor of the Strongman clown. Luckily, I didn’t get a whiff but each time he appeared he had this weird, nasty grimace. Remember being told, “Stop making that face or it will freeze like that?” This guy pushed his luck one too many times.
There was one thing I actually looked forward to. After seeing the TV ad for La Nouba in our hotel room a bazillion times, I couldn’t wait for the sexy dude with rippling muscles do the act with the curtains. (It’s where they wrap themselves up with fabric panels and do acrobatics.) But wait, this is no guy; this is some chick that looks like she lifts Mack trucks for fun. Swell, not only were there scary clowns, hot guy had the night off.
Then there was the music. I grew up in NYC and it reminded me of cats wailing in the courtyard behind our apartment at night. (They do sell the soundtrack so if you want to encourage your feline to mate, this will inspire them.)
So no Bawb, I will not take a clown course at Ringling. For all I know, there’s some third generation clown waiting to avenge his clown grandfather’s rejection. I could end up stuffed in a clown car, never to be seen again. I’m also not going back to LaNouba. There’s a clown curse hanging over me and I know I’ll get chosen for onstage clown abuse.
Repeat after me “clowns are the spawn of Satan and must be destroyed.” (If you are a clown or are related to one, please direct any hate mail to Bawb who had the brilliant idea to send me to clown school.)
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